


The Ever Charming Fragility of Humans

by neenapee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fever, Flu, Illnesses, M/M, Sickfic, cas learning how to be a human!!, only one bed lolz but nothing happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27474733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neenapee/pseuds/neenapee
Summary: Cas comes down with his first bout of the flu and clearly has no clue what's wrong with him, so he calls an old friend for help:)
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	The Ever Charming Fragility of Humans

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for the beginning of season 9! if you want to see more stuff like this you can find me on tumblr @siickdays

It’s the middle of the night when Dean gets a call. He gropes for his phone in the darkness of his room, bleary eyes adjusting just before the screen blinds him, and he’s back to square one. He picks up the phone on the last ring, hand clamped over the back of his phone as he listens to the static over the line. “Cas?” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why’re you callin’ me? It’s the middle of the night, man, get some sleep.” 

“Well, I would,” Cas says. His voice is gravely over the phone, and there’s a muffled cough, a slight sniffle. “But I seem to have encountered a bit of an issue. I would appreciate your assistance if you would be so willing.” 

Dean bolts up, suddenly wide awake. “What kind of issue?” Dean was the one who kicked him out of the bunker, who sent him off alone into the world with no powers, no money, no resources. If there’s an issue with Cas, it’s on Dean, and he knows it. 

“I’m not sure, exactly,” Cas says. His voice cuts out for a split second and a spike of fear pierces through Dean’s chest. “I can’t explain it. But I know that something is wrong.” 

Dean pauses, staring at the wall, the inky darkness that surrounds him. His blankets are soft and they’ve just gotten off of a hunt; a simple vamp nest that shouldn’t have wiped him out as much as it did. But, whispers the little voice in his head, anything that happens to Cas is Dean’s fault, and if it’s something bad, Dean will never be able to forget about it. He sighs; his night of rest is just going to have to wait. “Where are you?”   
\------  
A note to Sam and a chugged energy drink later and Dean is on the road, headlights shining on the dark, empty highway. There’s flat land as far as the eye can see, grass dead on the side of the road, as if the Earth is sprouting tiny yellow and brown hairs. The time ticks by on the clock; one in the morning, one thirty, two. Despite the caffeine coursing through his veins his eyelids start to droop and he cranks up the music, letting the rush of rock pump through his body and re-awaken the hunter inside of him. He’s killed pretty much everything in the book-demons, vamps, werewolves- you name it, Dean’s stuck a knife inside of it. If he can capture the king of hell on two hours of sleep, he can drive a couple more hours to help a friend. He presses harder on the gas, and the impala shoots down the highway, leaving dead grass and dust in its wake.   
\------  
The impala putters to a quiet stop in front of the gas-n-sip Cas told him about, the lights dim and the neighborhood quiet. It’s a quaint little suburban area, with rooftops made from the same tiles, the doors all painted a vaguely different shade of white. It’s eerie, to imagine a former soldier of God camping it out in soccer mom heaven, but when he pushes on the door of the gas-n-sip it creaks open and he steps into the empty store, tiled floors wet with mop water underneath his feet. 

The mop in question sits in the corner, the water marinating in its own filth as a rogue splash of bubbles lays beside it. A box of chips sits open on the countertop, half stocked with the others left to sit in the darkness. It gives Dean the impression that, while once well cared for, the store has fallen into disarray, and tasks that should be easy for anyone lay unfinished on surfaces and floors. “Cas?” Dean calls out, pulling his FBI badge out of his pocket. If this happens to be the wrong gas-n-sip, and someone happens to walk by to see a random man poking around, the badge can give him a million reasons as to why he’s there. “Dude, you here?” Nothing but the sound of crickets from outside. “Dude, c’mon. I drove for hours to get to you, don’t tell me you’re not here.” 

“I am here, Dean.” Cas’s voice comes from the back room, harsh and rocky but still, it’s Cas’s voice, in person, at last. 

“Man, it’s dark in here. I can’t see shit.” 

A light flickers on and Dean finds Cas standing in the doorway of the back room, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and sweat dripping from his face. His skin is a pasty white, and a ragged pair of sweats hang from his hips, a hole in the knee, and the ends of the strings frayed. “Ok, man, spill,” Dean says, taking a step closer to Cas. “What’s the big problem you had to drag me out here to fix?” 

“I- I cannot explain it, Dean,” Cas says, stumbling into the main store. “There is something very wrong in my body, I must have been cursed, or-” He bends over at the waist, hacking up a lung and Dean winces. He walks, standing less than a foot away and pressing the flat of his hand to Cas’s forehead. Heat burns underneath his skin, and he frowns. 

“Aw, geez, Cas, you’re not cursed, and you’re not dying. I can’t believe you dragged me all the way out here for a friggin cold.” 

“I am sorry,” Cas says, his voice more rugged than before. Pink splotches spread over his cheeks and he winces, screwing the heel of his hand into his chest. “This is just a normal, human thing?” 

“Yeah, man, this is normal.” 

“Ok, well, you can go if you’d like, I suppose,” Cas says. “I am sorry I dragged you out here.” He launches into another coughing fit and Dean finds himself holding Cas up by the shoulders, trying to keep him from toppling over. This is looking more and more like the flu as Dean watches his friend and a head injury on top of everything would probably wreck his normal human body. Cas slumps over in his arms, head falling to Dean’s chest and Dean finds himself supporting Cas’s entire body weight, everything plus the fever and the cough. 

“Woah, Woah, I’m not leavin’ you here alone,” Dean says. “Have you taken anything? Medicine?” 

“Where would I acquire that?” 

“Right over there.” Dean points to the medicine aisle, where cough drop bags glint in the light of the store. “You really don’t know anything about being sick, huh?” 

“I’m afraid I’ve never had to deal with this before,” Cas snaps, just before his face falls. “I am sorry.”   
“Don’t worry about it, I’m a bear when I’m sick,” Dean says. “I’ll help you out. Grab the stuff you need and let’s go.” 

“This is it,” Cas says. 

“That’s all you have?” 

“Should I have more?” 

Dean sighs. “Never mind. You’re gonna call your boss, tell her you won’t be in tomorrow. Got it?” 

“But she needs me,” Cas says, his face pinching. “I have to do inventory, and fill the coffee urns, and-” He breaks into another bout of coughing, leaning heavily on Dean for support. His body burns underneath him. 

“She can go without you for a day, man, you need rest,” Dean says. He grabs a bottle of flu medicine, a bag of cough drops, a couple of boxes of tissues. “C’mon, let’s move it.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Dean says. “I always find someplace.” 

It’s raining when they get outside and Cas shivers, wrapping his blanket tighter around himself. Everything he’s wearing is ratty; the blanket, the sweatpants, the old socks with the dirty bottoms. His hair is plastered to his forehead and he falls into the impala, head against the window as he shivers hard. He looks so much weaker than Dean remembered, and Dean feels too bad to even give him shit for it. He cranks the heat all the way up and even though it makes him that much sleepier, Cas doesn’t shiver quite as hard, and his expression goes soft as they drive. 

They check into a dingy motel with just one room left, a king-sized bed with holes in the blankets, and a creaky mattress that screams when touched. Dean eases Cas onto the bed, a burning heat underneath his skin, and coughs bubbling up from his chest. He flips over, face smashed into the pillow. “Hey, get up, big guy,” Dean says, slapping him on the back. “Gotta get some medicine into you.” Cas only groans so Dean flips him over himself, Cas’s mouth hanging open and his eyes half parted. “Open wider.” Cas opens his mouth and when Dean pours in a capful of cough medicine, Cas coughs and splutters, shooting up and wiping remnants of the medicine off of his chin. 

“Dean-” 

“I told you to open your mouth,” Dean says, pouring another half a cap. “Drink this. And then go to bed. I gotta get back tomorrow.” Cas downs the medicine, letting his head fall back to the pillow. His body is warm against Deans, and his blue eyes have lost some of their vibrancy. Dean remembers his first time seeing the angel, wings spread out before him as lights shattered and the world rumbled. Now, he’s just another human down with a fever and a cough. But this way he’s less intimidating, and Dean can imagine him as his equal, someone to talk to, spend time with. “So, gas-n-sip, huh?” Dean says, rolling over and staring at Cas. “The exciting world of convenience store working has you in its grip?” 

“I suppose so,” Cas says, staring at the ceiling. The fan rotates lazily, and he rubs his face, sighing. “In a way, it can be rewarding. I used to lead armies in heaven and fight alongside you and Sam in the apocalypse, and now I sign for shipments of chips and snack-cakes and make sure the bathroom stays clean. I still have a responsibility, a duty to serve those in charge. It’s just very different.” 

“Well, I’m proud of you, man,” Dean says. “Getting your life together, makin’ a name for yourself. Kind of. Just try not to get yourself sick again, ‘kay?” 

“Is there a spell you can do on me to protect me from this in the future?” Cas asks. “Maybe something in the bunker?” 

“Nah, man, just eat well, rest up, and if you’re going to sleep in that gas-n-sip, at least keep the heat on at night.” 

“Thank you, Dean, truly,” Cas says. His eyelids flutter, and he yawns, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” Dean says. “Maybe I’ll stop by more often, check in on you, see how you’re doin’. This human thing is tricky, huh?” 

“Yes, very, ah, tricky,” Cas says. He shakes with coughs, and Dean frowns. It’s never once occurred to him that Cas has no human experience, no knowledge of how to deal with a fever or a cold or the flu. Cas winces, tucking into himself like he’s protecting himself, and Dean’s frown deepens. He’s about to leave a close friend, someone who has saved his life on more occasions than he can count, alone with his first-ever bout of the flu. Cas was helpless in the human world even before he became one and now, with all the additions of human weakness, Cas would probably walk right out into oncoming traffic without understanding how it could hurt him. 

“You know, maybe I’ll stay here with you for a couple of days,” Dean says. He brushes Cas’s sweaty hair back from his forehead, watching as Cas starts to lose his grip on his consciousness. “Help you get better, y’ know? Make sure you don’t accidentally kill yourself?” 

“I would like that very much,” Cas says. His voice is starting to slur, and Dean can tell he’s close to sleep. “Thank you. For everything.” 

“No problem, man. What are friends for?”

Cas drifts off, amid feverish heat and trembles, but Dean stays awake, listening to Cas’s congested breathing, the light coughs that slip out of his mouth. Cas’s body is warm against his; after fighting so hard for so long, it’s been a long time since he’s felt a warmth in bed next to him. Dean lies in bed for hours on hours, watching his friend fight illness through the night.


End file.
